


The Moments We Didn't See

by Muhly1013



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Post-Episode: s08e04 The Last of the Starks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:51:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muhly1013/pseuds/Muhly1013
Summary: During s08e04: all the moments we didn't see during Jaime and Brienne's time together as a couple. And an insight into Jaime's conflict. And lots of sex. Talks of the future, mis-understandings, fun and angst.- - - -“What happens afterwards?” Brienne asked, taking her move in their boardgame. "When all the battles are won?"“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Jaime said, leaning back, their game forgotten. “I’ve spent my whole life fitting into other people’s plots. Other people’s wars—” He flicked at the pieces on the board, scattering them, making her jump. “When she’s dead, I’m done with it.”She.Cersei. The name he couldn’t bear to utter.





	The Moments We Didn't See

Brienne knew what she was accepting the moment she opened her door to him.

Jaime stood there, more drunk than when she’d left him at the feast. He didn’t miss a beat, already quipping about that stupid game they’d been playing.

She should never have let her guard down. He staggered in, poured her a drink, and she let herself wonder — one moment of make-believe — whether he’d carried on drinking so heavily to give him the courage to be here at all.

Of course not. Don’t be stupid. But then he was fumbling with his clothes.

And then he was fumbling with hers.

And before she could catch her breath, he was kissing her.

 

They clung to one another, years of tension guiding Brienne’s untrained hands.

His hands were in her hair, and she liked that, so she did the same to him; raking her hands through his hair until he groaned against her lips.

She liked that too. At last he took a step backwards — stumbling slightly — a shocked look in his eyes.

His eyes. He had the most open eyes whenever he looked at her lately.

She saw hunger in them now, and disbelief. And something like awe.

It was crazy — too much wine, too much adrenaline — but the way he looked at her sent waves of heat rushing to her core. How could anyone look at her like that? Let alone _him?_ The one that mattered the most.

_Is this real?_ She thought, chest heaving, as they contemplated one another. _Can this really be… real?_

 

Jaime’s eyes drifted to her bed. And Brienne felt the jolt of it all the way to her toes.

He offered her his hand, keeping his other arm to his side, shying away from her like he was afraid she might be repulsed.

And that’s what got her limbs to move, got her brain to kick into gear once more. How utterly absurd — when they were standing half-naked in front of one another, her lips throbbing with the force of their kissing — that he would feel ashamed of any part of himself now.

Brienne reached for his golden hand and worked at the buckles that held it in place.

“You don’t have to…” Jaime muttered, looking to the floor, the breathless paralysis tensing his muscles once again. “Really…”

Brienne couldn’t find the right words to say. She wanted to tell him that they both have scars. They both have steel in their blood. And losing his hand was the most tragic, heroic, heart-breaking thing anyone has ever done for her.

For her maiden-head. Brienne almost laughed nervously, but held it in.

Soon Jaime’s golden hand fell to the floor. She cupped his face with both her hands, willing her eyes to be as open as his were to her.

_All of you_ , she thought hard, but couldn’t dare say it. _I love all of you, you idiot_.

She felt her eyes sting. She kissed him, this time. Slower, finding their rhythm. Her heart hammered when he pulled her closer, joining them together, his cock hard against her.

“Take them off,” Jaime breathed against her lips, demanding, his voice low and rumbling. His hand searched between them, insistent.

Brienne complied, not breaking their kiss as she loosed the knots of her breeches. At last she was bare for him. She made quick work of his and their final layers joined their shirts on the floor, forgotten.

Jaime pulled back and offered her his hand again. This time she took it.

 

His weight on her, and his heat. It was more than Brienne could ever have imagined. How could she have known of this? This dance they danced together, searching, exploring. It was nothing like those fleeting moments she’d witnessed in the taverns.

Jaime’s mouth found her breast and Brienne gasped. She felt him smiling against her skin. And he continued to explore.

Brienne stared at the ceiling — looking but not really seeing anything at all — as Jaime’s kisses trailed lower and lower.

She realised too late where he was heading. A wave of nerves hit her hard. She moved to close her legs, but he was between them. He placed his hand on her thigh, stroking, soothing.

“Let me show you this,” Jaime whispered, his eyes almost all black with lust in the dim light. “Please.” Gods, he was so beautiful.

“I don’t know how—”

“Just relax.” He trailed kisses from her knee to her inner thigh, leaving fire in his wake.

Brienne forced herself to obey him and with the help of his coaxing hand she opened herself for him. It was more than nerves, she realised, as her head spun with this strange new reality. This was a ledge she needed to jump from, at long last, into the unknown.

_There’s no coming back from this_ , her mind offered, her heart racing. She gripped the furs beneath her with both hands as Jaime kissed even closer to her centre.

_Brienne the Brave. The Warrior. The maiden_. Every title she’d worn like armour he was stripping away from her now.

And what is a warrior without armour? Vulnerable, small, weak.

It took all her strength to remain relaxed, to trust. To jump from the ledge.

Jaime’s tongue reached her heat, and Brienne couldn’t hold back her moan. His laughter — kind, awed, almost relieved — vibrated through her body as he finally explored her properly.

Brienne squirmed under him and he put a strong hand on her stomach to keep her in place.

The freefall lasted a lifetime.

 

Heat built and built, like nothing Brienne had ever experienced before. Jaime worked harder, and it felt like battle — the clashing of steel, the dance, the most intimate chase — her hands found his hair and tugged as her need grew deeper.

His finger slid inside her, and she shouted out — his name? Or wordless sounds? — She pulled at his hair, holding him to her, so close.

Jaime slid in a second finger and she felt herself come undone. Her body sang with him, with _them_. It felt like the peak would never stop until slowly ebbed away, leaving her trembling.

He kissed her softly on the thigh, and at last he lifted himself to look at her.

Brienne expected fear to return. She expected herself to grow small, to cover herself up. But all she could feel was joy.

Jaime took her all in, and she loved watching him watch her. Her skin was flushed — she could feel it — and her heart was pounding, and when he locked eyes with her again she saw nothing but love.

“Magnificent,” he whispered. He couldn’t stop smiling.

She felt the word wrap around her heart. No longer Brienne the Warrior — not here, not in this bed — no longer vulnerable, or small, or weak.

In his eyes, she was _magnificent_.

 

He kissed her, and she tasted him along with her own scent and her body hummed with the afterglow. “Did I die?” she found herself saying — delirious, smiling, looking deep into Jaime’s eyes — “did I die in battle?” _how else could this be real?_

Jaime laughed, but kindly. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, then found her mouth once more. “We didn’t die,” he breathed between soft kisses. “Maybe we’re finally living.” He kissed her deeper.

The tension built within her again, taking her by surprise. Would she ever be sated of him? She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him on top of her, revelling in the surprise on his face. She felt Jaime’s desire hot against her thigh.

“Do you want to?” Jaime asked, stroking her hair, watching for any small hint of doubt in her features. “We have all the time in the world, we don’t need to—”

“I want you,” Brienne said, staring up at him. “I want you, Jaime.”

His name on her lips did complicated things to him, she’d noticed in the past. She thrilled at his reaction now. His eyes shone for her, like she was all he could see. All he ever wanted to see again. And any remaining fear burned away.

 

So she was new to this, to the acts of love, of flesh against flesh.

But she knew Jaime Lannister by heart.

 

He entered her slowly, studying her face, stroking her hair. There was a small sting, but it was nothing — the sweetest pain — and soon Jaime couldn’t look at her. His eyes closed with pleasure as he filled her more deeply than Brienne ever thought possible.

“Are you alright?” he whispered into her ear, his voice pained with restraint.

“I love you,” Brienne found herself saying. Jaime’s eyes widened in surprise. Once she started she couldn’t stop. She stroked his face, traced his lip with her thumb. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

His lips met hers, like their first kiss — hard, suffocating, relentless — he stole her breath and he started to move with in her, no longer able to be restrained. And Brienne didn’t care at all.

There was pain, but she’d felt pain — real pain — before. It was her friend, and she knew how to breathe, how to chase it from her limbs. And soon there was pleasure.

Jaime moaned as he thrust deep into her, and she moaned in return. He gripped her jaw — hard, lost in her — and stole another kiss. His beard scraped at her face, and his tongue entered her mouth, and she sunk into the furs beneath his weight.

She let herself be taken. Sweet static filled her mind as she matched his rhythm, wrapping her legs around him, begging him deeper. Brienne marvelled at his strength, at her powerlessness, as he took her.

As she surrendered completely.

And she knew she’d been right, before.

There was no going back from this. He was in her now — in her heart and her body and her soul — deeper than any sword could reach. And just as lethal.

But there was no room for fear, tonight.

Brienne clawed at Jaime’s back, hard enough to leave a mark, and he replied by pounding harder, arching into her. Gods, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

A bead of sweat trailed down his neck and she reached to kiss it, sucking, tasting, nipping. Jaime moaned louder, and she felt the vibration through her lips.

Heat built up once more, a pyre burning within her, stacked high with all of the armour she used to hide behind. All the people she used to be. _There is no going back from this_ , she thought again, even as the moment took her, as she cried out his name.

Jaime spilled within her, closing his eyes tight with pleasure.

When he opened his eyes, she was already watching him, committing him to memory.

He leaned in close and kissed her, slow and soft. He rolled onto the bed, chest heaving.

Without words, Jaime pulled her close. He took her hand and placed her palm over his heart. It felt like it might beat right out of his chest.

“This… this is what you do to me,” Jaime whispered, breathless. He placed his hand over hers.

And they slept.

 

 

. .

 

 

Brienne woke to aching muscles. Her mind automatically did its usual inventory: _what fight? Who died? How badly am I injured?_

A smile spread on her face when she finally remembered the truth.

They’d shifted in the night. They’d turned to face one another, his hand possessive on her waist.

The fire had turned to embers now in her bedroom. They were under furs. One of them must have wrapped them up, but she couldn’t remember it happening.

What time was it?

She realised she didn’t care. There wasn’t anywhere she needed to be. Their door was locked, their window shuttered. Maybe the whole world had frozen over in the night and they could stay in this timeless place together, for the rest of their days.

Gods… She sounded like some foolish princess.

Brienne watched Jaime sleeping. His face was relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen before. It was more than wine, or relief after battle. He was truly at peace.

She found herself touching him, because she could, at long last. She stroked his cheek, brushed at his hair. Her traitor eyes welled up at the sight of him in her bed.

Without warning he grabbed her hand, quick as a killer. “It’s rude to stare you know.” He kissed her knuckles and finally opened his eyes. His peaceful features fell into a frown. “Do we have any water?”

Brienne’s heart had stopped at his reaction, but it was just a hangover. He’d drank a lot more than her last night. “No. I have more wine?”

Jaime groaned, and she laughed.

He got out of bed and she immediately missed his warmth. He pulled on a tunic — she wasn’t even sure if it was hers or his, not that it mattered — and got dressed hurriedly.

Brienne noticed with a jolt of warmth that Jaime’s golden hand was still on the floor, forgotten.

“I’ll go get us some water. Maybe some food,” Jaime explained. He must have felt her eyes on him. When he was dressed he turned to her. “And don’t even think about leaving that bed.”

“Yes, Ser,” Brienne said, feeling devilish. Heat rose up her neck. And further beneath the furs.

When her door closed, Brienne shook her head in disbelief. It still didn’t feel real.

Except it was, she could feel it in her heart. It pounded with anticipation of Jaime’s return.

 

..

 

Sleep took Brienne again, and the door jolting her awake.

“Fucking hate the North,” Jaime muttered as he laid down a plate of bread and cheese onto her table. He had a skin of water wedged under his arm.

He bit off the stopper and drank deeply, streams of water trailing down his neck. He gasped for air and passed her the skin.

“Why do you hate the North now?” she asked, and drank. Hadn’t realised how much she’d needed it.

“Had to walk half a year to find some edible food.” He poked at the offerings on the plate. “Mostly edible. And everyone was staring at me, muttering their little Northern insults.”

“The North isn’t all bad. They’ll get used to you eventually. They have me.” Brienne smiled at him. “You forgot logs for the fire. You know the rule.”

Jaime stared at her blankly, then remembered. “Collect some every time you leave a room. See. This is why I hate the North. So much to _remember_.” Without another word he slipped off his tunic and before she could take another breath he was naked in front of her. “It’s fucking freezing in here.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Why did you just strip off then?”

His eyes glinted at her wickedly. “I can think of a few ways to keep warm.”

Brienne pulled back the furs for him, heart hammering. Soon he was beside her, all cold hands and feet. She placed his palm over her heart, just like he did to her the night before. “This is what you do to me,” she whispered.

He kissed her, his lips cold from the water. He ran his hand up her side and she squealed. “You’re freezing!” She grabbed his hand in both of hers to stop him.

“I just told you I was cold. What did you expect?” His eyes shone with wickedness and she could feel his plans forming as he looked her over.

He pushed her down onto her back, pulling his hand free from hers. He pressed his cold nose into her neck — kissing, blowing cold air — and Brienne screamed, kicking, laughing. “Jaime!”

His icy hand danced up and down her side as she writhed beneath him. Every time she got a firm hold he wriggled free, his laughter in her ear.

This wouldn’t do.

She rolled, with all her strength, flipping them, straddling his hips. With a quick fight she pulled his arms up over his head. There was silence.

She stared down at him, breathless.

Brienne kissed him. Because she could, and that would never, ever, get old. The thought wouldn’t fit into her head. She kissed his neck, his collarbone. Traced fading bruises with her lips. She let his arms go and he didn’t tease her this time. He let her explore.

She could feel him twitching between her legs, impossibly warm. The now familiar heat rose up in her once more. She was aching from her first time. She knew it would be tender, to try again so soon. But there wasn’t anything in this world she wanted more.

Brienne reached between them, guiding him into place. Jaime’s eyes grew wide as she lowered herself onto him.

It felt different than before. Deeper. The low ebb of pain throbbed through her, just as she’d expected. But with a deep breath it was done with.

Brienne realised with a flush of shame that she had no idea what to do next. But Jaime guided her without words. He gripped her thigh, coaxing her to rock, and Gods, did it feel good.

She put her hands on his chest for support, and he guided her slowly until the rhythm took her. She though it couldn’t be any more intense, but when Jaime slid his hand between them she cried out.

“Look at me,” Jaime demanded. And she did. Watching the effects of her movements play on his face only doubled her pleasure. _She_ was doing this to him. Making him look that way. Making his eyes roll back before he could fight it and look at her once more.

Brienne stroked his cheek, and he pulled her thumb into his mouth, sucking, biting down. It sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. She picked up the pace, rocking harder now, faster. Lost in it all.

Jaime groaned, and she realised he was close. She was close too. His fingers sent her over the edge, and she pinned his hand there — _right there_ — with both her hands as she rocked against him, shameless in her need.

Jaime soon followed, spilling into her, whispering her name like a prayer.

 

 

. .

 

They were sitting up in bed, wrapped in their furs, the plate of food between them. It might have been afternoon by now, or maybe even night, but neither had bothered to open their window to check.

Brienne had got the fire blazing once more. She’d cut the bread and the cheese up and lightly toasted them by the fire.

The room smelled wonderful, like a safe tavern on a cold night, and their meal was even better. She picked up a piece and fed it to Jaime, marvelling at their simple intimacy.

He took a bite and nodded in approval. “The North is growing on me,” he managed between chewing.

“I thought you said you don’t want things growing on you,” Brienne replied, taking a bite for herself.

“Maybe I was wrong about that.” They ate in contended silence, Jaime opening his mouth for another bite expectantly every few minutes, making Brienne laugh every time.

 

 

..

 

 

The following morning, Brienne finally showed her face around the castle. She had expected her armour to feel like a prison, but it was as comforting as ever.

She scanned the faces of her friends — of Lady Sansa and Podrick and the rest — expecting them all to see into her memories like an open book. Maybe they’d laugh, or make fun. Maybe they’d pity her.

But no one noticed the change in her at all.

Brienne held her secrets close to her chest, and they kept her warm during her patrols.

 

With the battle won, Jaime had nothing much to do except visit his brother and keep the fire in their — _her_ — room alive. Brienne shook her head. She couldn’t stop thinking like that: of _them_ , and _they_ , and _us._

It scared her, in truth. Aside from her squire in more recent times, she’d always been alone. It had always been easier that way. No one can hurt you if you keep your armour buckled and your weapon at the ready.

But maybe no one can love you that way, either.

 

 

. .

 

 

They slipped into a comfortable routine as the days passed. Brienne got used to sharing her bed and noticed the moment Jaime’s weight shifted every morning. She felt his loss every time but he’d soon return with food, or wine, or simply a kiss on her forehead. How had she ever spent so many nights alone?

They learned each other’s bodies, but it was more than that.There was dinner, and wine, and bickering. One drunken evening they played that drinking game again. They told each another stories, secrets no one else would know. They healed together in the light of their fire.

 

And there was laughter. So much laughter. Brienne wondered how she had lived so long without it.

As the days passed, she found herself wondering about the future. Wondering about the sort of life she’d never let herself want before.

“What happens afterwards?” Brienne asked. They were sitting at her table playing some ancient boardgame that Jaime had found in the Winterfell library. She wasn’t sure they had all the pieces, and they certainly didn’t know the rules. But it was fun to make them up as they went.

“After I win you again?” Jaime replied, moving one of his pieces over hers, taking it.

“When all the battles are won.” Brienne contemplated the board, anything but look at him. “What happens afterwards?” She took her move, stealing one of his pieces in a way that he’d protested against in their previous game. He hardly noticed now.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Jaime said, leaning back, the game forgotten. “I’ve spent my whole life fitting into other people’s plots. Other people’s wars—” He flicked at the pieces on the board, scattering them, making her jump. “When she’s dead, I’m done with it.”

_She_.

Cersei. The name he couldn’t bear to utter.

“It’ll all be over with soon,” Brienne said, and it felt like a lie she might tell a small child who had to hide away in the crypts. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through—”

“No. You can’t,” Jaime snapped, slamming his fist onto the table. He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Brienne shook her head: _it’s fine_. But seeing the ghost of who he used to be scared her. It always did.

“And what about you? What do you want?” Jaime asked in a lighter tone, searching her eyes. But her ears were still ringing from his outburst.

Brienne stared at him as she thought. Fighting was all she’d ever known. It was the only thing that had given her strength when the world tried to change her. When the world tried — over and over again — to break her. She’d always turned to her sword. “I… I don’t know,” she managed. Her eyes gravitated to their swords — two halves of a whole — propped up near the fire.

“You love it,” Jaime said. It wasn’t a question. “The fight. I loved it too.”

“It isn’t the only thing I love,” Brienne said, her voice faltering.

Jaime reached over and took her hand. “We can’t stay in Winterfell forever.”

“Because you hate the North.”

“Because they’re not my people.” Jaime pulled back his hand and Brienne missed the warmth. “Because I’ll never be accepted, not like you. Not the _Kingslayer_.” Jaime shook his head in disgust.

“Don’t say that word—”

“Why? It’s who I am, isn’t it?” He stood up, his chair scraping angrily on the floorboards. “I’m the Kingslayer. The _Oathbreaker_. Do you think I can’t hear their whispers? While you’re on your patrols, fulfilling your oaths, I’m a ghost here! Nothing but a ghost.”

“Not here then,” Brienne said, almost pleading. She stood up too, feeling her heart hammer at the back of her throat. Her dream. The dream she’d thought of more and more as the days passed with Jaime… “What about Tarth?”

Jaime froze, taken aback. “Tarth,” Jaime muttered, like the word were an insult. “What do you mean?”

Fear, her old friend, crept back into Brienne’s bones. She heard their distant laughter. Their catcalls and their jokes. Who was she, to want this? Brienne the Beast, with Jaime Lannister, The Golden Knight? Had she been a fool all this time?

Brienne’s mouth sealed shut. An angry red flush rose on her face. The shame burned right to her bones.

“What do you mean?” Jaime asked, more softly this time. He moved to speak but closed his mouth once again. Brienne watched his mind whirl. Waited for him to ridicule her, like all the others.

Jaime took a step closer to her. “Tarth. Your homeland. You’re the heir.” He took another step closer still. Brienne fought the urge to back away. “Do you mean…”

Brienne finally found her voice. She hated how it trembled. How she could no longer look him in the eyes. “Nothing. I don’t mean anything, it was just a suggestion, a stupid suggestion—”

“When all this is over, you think we could live there together,” Jaime said, his voice low and unsteady. “As — what? — as man and wife?”

Brienne closed her eyes. She braced herself, for all the good it would do her. She’d given herself to Jaime completely already. She’d jumped from that ledge and into the unknown, and burned all her armour in the process. He was in her like swords, right the way through her.

And he was _twisting_.

_If he laughs at me, I’ll die_ , Brienne thought, tears prickling at her closed eyes.

“Do you think Jon could do it?” Jaime asked.

Brienne’s brain stuttered. She opened her eyes slowly.

“Their Maester is dead,” Jaime continued, “But Jon is warden of the North.” He grimaced. “I’m not having the _dragon queen_ do it—”

“Do what?” Brienne managed, fear stealing her breath.

Jaime met her gaze like she’d lost her mind. But there was no unkindness there. All she could see — and she looked hard for deception — was love. Blazing love. “He could marry us of course,” Jaime said, like it should be obvious.

Brienne burst into tears.

He rushed to her, gathering her in his arms. “What? What did I do?” He wiped at her cheeks, guiding her to look at him. “Is being my wife really such a terrible thought?”

The fear in his eyes brought her back to her senses. She laughed a wet laugh, wiping at her tears, ashamed. “Yes,” she quipped, and laughed harder as Jaime’s face dropped in mock panic. “I thought…” Brienne shook her head. She couldn’t say it out loud, even now.

“What?” Jaime kissed her temple, then looked into her eyes once more.

“I thought I’d got this all wrong,” Brienne said, struggling under his intense gaze. “I thought this was all just… I don’t know… I thought this was nothing to you.” Just saying the words out loud twisted the blades inside her so hard she had to fight not to grimace. “For a moment, I thought I was nothing to you.”

He kissed her so intensely it caught her off guard. He kissed her until all her doubts turned into fire. She’d been so afraid when she’d seen glimpses of his old self, she hadn’t even noticed the woman she used to be creeping in from the shadows as well.

They both had so much to learn, and it wouldn’t ever be easy.

But as Jaime took her to bed, and kissed away her tears, she knew he’d never hurt her intentionally. The man he’d grown to be wasn’t capable of it anymore.

 

. .

 

“I’ve told Tyrion, and Pod, so now I’m pretty sure the whole castle will know. If not the whole of Westeros,” Jaime announced as soon as Brienne came in from her patrols. It was late. They’d been together for twelve days now. Twelve blissful days. With each night that passed, Brienne began to believe in them more and more. She dreamed of Tarth, of their matching swords hanging up above their fireplace.

She began to take off her armour. It was funny, she used to sleep in it every night. It used to feel like skin to her. But it put too many layers between her and Jaime when they were here. When they were safe. “What did Tyrion think?” She scoffed. “I bet he made tall jokes.”

Jaime snorted. “He did.” A dark flash shadowed his eyes for the briefest of moments. But it was gone as quickly as it arrived. “He’s happy for us.”

“Good,” Brienne replied, and she found that she meant it. Tyrion had watched Jaime Knight her. He’d cheered for her. He was kind.

Gods. What had her life become? She was friends now with one Lannister and betrothed to another.

They hadn’t discussed their betrothal since. There was an unspoken rule in the air, like never mentioning Cersei’s name: their life would begin when this was all over.

Tension bit at Brienne’s neck hourly. The last they’d heard of the fleet, one of Dany’s dragon’s had died, and a prisoner taken.

But it would all be OK. It would have to be OK. They’d fought an army of the dead; Cersei Lannister was nothing in comparison.

Jaime’s worry plagued his face more and more. He tried to hide it, but she new him by heart. He’s started wearing his golden hand again. Brienne hated it more than she could say.

 

. .

 

 

Another day of patrols, of feeling useless and waiting for news that hadn’t come. Brienne found herself staring longingly at her sword as she came home and began to take off her armour. Her fingers yearned to feel it, her shoulders ached for the clashing of blades.

But she couldn’t go. She would stay here, stay with Jaime. Keep them both safe.

“Lady Sansa is happy for you to stay in the North as my guest for as long as we’d like,” Brienne said.

Jaime nodded. “Hopefully it won’t be for too much longer. Any news on the fight?”

He’d been asking more and more. If Brienne was itching to fight, then she could only imagine how much Jaime must be yearning for his blade.

But Cersei was a cancer. Even the mention of her name could bring out darker sides of Jaime’s character. She would destroy him. Destroy everything he’d fought to become.

And Brienne was never going to let that happen.

“I’ve been lonely,” Jaime said, as he walked towards her. She’d just gotten free of her armour.

“You can leave this room, you know. You’ve seen Tyrion—” He silenced her with a kiss, pressing her hard against the wall.

“Maybe I should take your house name,” Jaime whispered against her neck, tearing at her tunic. She pulled it over her head and rid him of his before he pressed her into the wall again. “Jaime Tarth, what do you think?” Jaime said, his voice wavering. “Let the Lannister bloodline die out for good.” He was wild tonight, tearing at her small clothes. Soon he was inside her, desperate, thrusting into her hard, pinning her in place. “No,” he said, breathless. “I could never be a Tarth. I don’t deserve to tarnish your House name.” He bit at her neck, harder than he ever had before. “House of honour.” He soothed her neck with kisses. “I don’t have honour.”

“Jaime—” she gasped, wrapping her legs around him as the heat swelled up inside her. His words worried her. The desperation of it all. But there was no time for coherent thought. She kissed him back, matching his passion, feeling his heartbeat race against her palm.

_This is what you do to me,_ he’d said, like he’d always known her greatest fear: that she’d never be enough for him, in the end. That she would never be enough for anyone at all.

Jaime clung to her, fucking her, so different than their usual love-making. Like he wanted to take her apart, piece by piece, kiss by kiss, and re-invent her.

Like she was his oxygen and he was about to dive deep underwater, so deep the light would never find him again.

 

 

. .

 

 

Brienne awoke to an empty bed, the familiar yet pleasant ache in her thighs. Jaime’s chair was by the fire, empty.

Her stomach dropped.

She was out of the bed in moments, flinging on her gown.

Soon she was running.

 

Brienne found Jaime tending to a horse. Packing. Her heart cracked at the sight.

“Have you ever run away from a fight?” He said, not looking at her. Avoiding her eyes. She couldn’t take it.

She held his face, hating the panic in her voice, but she was powerless to stop it.

Powerless.

That’s what Jaime Lannister had made her.

“You’re not like your sister,” she begged, still afraid to speak her name. Afraid, like she might be a demon in the night, invincible, shining — golden, just like Jaime’s hand. Two halves of a whole.

Brienne had her sword. Jaime had his. A matching pair.

But what was that compared to his twin? His flesh and blood?

His addiction.

Brienne pleaded, her words all running together. “You don’t need to die with her.”

Die. Jaime couldn’t die.

He couldn’t. The swords he’d slipped inside her soul twisted all at once. Twisted and cut at her heart.

She couldn’t bear the pain any longer. “Stay with me.” Her voice broke. She broke inside. The trust, the effort it had taken her — years — to open up, to let him in. To give him the power to break her…

Jaime didn’t reply.

“Please… stay…” Brienne managed, through her tears. He shimmered in her vision. Jaime. Her Jaime. The only man she had ever truly loved. The only man she’d ever trusted with her heart.

The look in his eyes told her all she needed to know.

She was losing him.

“You think I’m a good man?” Jaime said, barely more than a whisper.

Brienne’s hands slipped from his face. She knew that look, and it wasn’t the man she’d grown to love. She could barely take in his words. His sins. His self-hatred left her speechless.

She knew he was truly lost when he finally said her name.

Once he started, he couldn’t stop.

_Cersei. Cersei._ That was all Brienne could her. She felt each word like a knife in her heart.

“She’s hateful,” Jaime said, eyes glistening. “And so am I.”

He got onto his horse and Brienne couldn’t watch him leave. She crumbled, deflated, like her body didn’t know how to be without him by her side. Like she didn’t remember how to breathe.

 

Soon the sounds of his horse faded into the distance. All Brienne could hear were her own tears, and she hated it. Hated herself. Hated her own stupidity for not seeing the signs. She collapsed down into the mud. Curled into a ball.

_Let winter take me_ , she begged, in her head. _Let this all be a dream_. _Please._ She prayed.

 

Soon morning came and she knew her prayers were not answered. She was alone again.

Like she always should have remained.

**Author's Note:**

> \----
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my version of what happened off-screen during this beautiful -- and INFURIATING! -- episode! If you liked it I'd love it if you left a comment. Thanks so much!


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